


Hanging From a Trip Wire

by LizAna



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Revolution, Romance, Suspense, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizAna/pseuds/LizAna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Story x-posted from Fanfiction.net)<br/>Set after 2x09 After the school Aaron disappears. Following some recovery time, Miles is up and around again. Now he, Rachel, Bass and Charlie are tracking Aaron. While scouting along the boarder between Texas and the Plains Nation, Bass falls through a roof and ends up trapped. Charlie refuses to leave him, even to go find Miles and Rachel. Danger mounts, as Patriots close in.<br/>A/N - While this is a Charloe fic, my aim is to keep the story and characters as true to the show as I can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Following the incident at the school, Aaron has disappeared, and after finding Cynthia's body and not knowing that Horn perished with the rest of the Patriot soldiers, Miles, Rachel, Bass and Charlie still think Horn has Aaron with the intention of using him as a weapon. They head back into_ _Willoughby_ _and find some antibiotics in Gene's house for Miles, and when he's back on his feet again, the four of them set off to track Aaron._

**North Texas, near the Plains Nation boarder**

The churned earth was damp beneath her fingertips, not yet dried out from the day's mild sun.

Charlie pushed to her feet and glanced behind her. Monroe stood a few steps to her left, while Miles and her mom stood just beyond him.

She passed a glance over Monroe, and focused on Miles. "The wagon passed by not too long ago, but it stopped here for a few minutes."

Miles glanced up and down the empty dirt road. "And the million dollar question is, was Aaron on it, or not?"

"Do you really think Horn took him across the boarder?" Rachel put in. "Why go to the Plains Nation?"

Miles shrugged one shoulder, a hand braced on the hilt of his sword. "Why go anywhere? Horn is desperate, and I stopped trying to guess what desperate men will do a long time ago. We need to find them before Aaron cooks anyone else from the inside out, or does something stupid."

A low surge of surprise jolted through Charlie. "You don't really think he'd hurt himself?"

Miles shook his head. "At this point, I've got no idea what Aaron might be capable of, or what Horn might do to him. We just need to find them."

"Someone's coming." Monroe drew his sword and nodded toward a nearby ditch, edged with low bushes.

Charlie wrapped a hand around her crossbow as she followed Monroe into the cover of the trench, with Miles and her mom close behind. As she crouched behind the shrubbery and brought her bow up, Monroe came down beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as he pulled out a pair of binoculars.

He cut her a brief glance, before lowering his gaze to the scope.

Charlie swallowed down the wave of tingling awareness she got any time he turned that intense blue gaze her way. By now, she wasn't surprised to find him right next to her when things were looking dangerous. If it'd been any other guy, she might have got offended, might have thought he was pulling some chauvinistic macho bullshit protective crap on her. But she knew Monroe wasn't doing anything more than watching her six, and though she'd never admit it out loud, the idea that Sebastian Monroe had her back was better than her own personal army.

Ever since he'd burst into that ramshackle excuse for a bar in the Plains Nation and busted up the bastards that had drugged her, Monroe had seemingly become her guardian angel, as though Lucifer had decided falling hadn't been such a good idea after all and was now trying to drag his sorry, sinful self up from hell to find some kind of grace.

"Eight men, coming up from the west," Monroe murmured, before handing the binoculars onto her.

She grabbed a quick look through them, easily spotting the tan uniforms of the Patriots in amongst the sparse forest trees. Cursing under her breath, she passed the binoculars onto Miles.

"Patriots." Miles added a few swear words of his own. "But what the hell are they doing this far out from Willoughby?"

"My guess?" Monroe reached across to take the binoculars back. "Now that Texas is the US government's bitch, they're looking to firm up their assets, probably put more men on the boarder, monitor everything and everyone coming in and going out. It's what I would have done."

Charlie shifted, unease slithering through her. These past days, it'd been so easy to forget who Monroe really was, what he'd done, and who he'd done it to. The stark reminder of his recent past revived the sick feeling she got whenever she thought too closely about Danny. However, the sensation didn't strike as deep as it once would have, time numbing the feeling and distancing the memory. Didn't change who was responsible though, which was a good way to remind herself of the bigger picture. Monroe might be playing nice at the moment, but she couldn't trust him, and every time she felt anything other than _nothing_ toward him, it was a betrayal of what Danny had died for.

"You're probably right, Bass." Miles rubbed his injured hand, the movement agitated. "Which means this eight here won't be the only Patriots in the area."

"So how are we going to get across the boarder?" Rachel asked in a low voice.

"We still don't know for sure that's where Horn and Aaron went." Miles sat back from the embankment. "So obviously we won't be going anywhere until we get a few questions answered."

The patrol had moved out of sight and Charlie turned, sitting up against the slope of the ditch.

Monroe tucked the binoculars away before pulling out a canteen of water. He held it out toward her with a questioning expression.

She reached out to take it from him with a slow movement. Even something as simple as the offer of water could have underlying implications when it came to Monroe.

He grinned, as though he could read her thoughts, and shook the canteen slightly. "Its just water, Charlie."

She closed her hand more tightly around the bottle, before taking it from him and helping herself to a quick mouthful. "Yeah, its just water."

And he was just a displaced general, wanted for war crimes against humanity.

"What's the plan then, Uncle Miles?" She handed the canteen back to Monroe and turned her attention away from him as he took a drink.

"We need to scout the boarder, work out which way Horn might have taken Aaron and see how many of these Patriots we're going to be up against if we are going to cross over."

Miles glanced at Rachel, who nodded, before he returned his attention to her and Monroe.

"Your mom and I will head east, you two go west. We'll meet back here in four hours."

Charlie nodded and pushed to her feet, ignoring the way her heart stuttered in her chest. What did it matter if she and Monroe were going off on their own for four hours? They'd traveled alone half way down the map, as Monroe had put it, and he'd gone out of his way to help her, help what was left of her family.

She wrapped a hand around her crossbow, finding her equilibrium in the familiar weight of it, and then turned to find Monroe standing right behind her.

"Well, what are you waiting for? East is that way." She gestured for him to lead the way, but he just stood there, and shot her a half grin.

"Thanks, how did I ever find east before without you acting as my compass?"

She sidestepped him, sending him an unimpressed glare. "If you could keep the sarcasm to a minimum, that'd be great. In fact, how about we just forgo the whole talking thing altogether?"

"Okay, feisty-pants. Boy, did you get up on the wrong side of the wagon today."

He started to take a step, but Miles grabbed his arm.

"Bass, you watch out for her, okay? Don't let her go off and do anything impulsive."

"You know that's funny, the fact you're asking me that, right?"

Miles sent him a flat look. "You're right. Charlie, make sure Bass doesn't do anything idiotic. Actually, how about the two of you just stay as far away from stupid as you can?"

"See you in a few hours, Uncle Miles." She sent him a short smile, before ducking around the bushes to head east, Monroe falling into step beside her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bass stayed a step behind Charlie as they walked along the cracked asphalt road, leading into the outskirts of a rundown industrial area. Huge, empty factories loomed up on either side of the street, echoing back the slightest noises, and casting deep shadows in the encroaching twilight.

They hadn't seen anyone since they'd left Miles and Rachel, and unlike some towns that had survived, the one he and Charlie had come up on looked to be abandoned by all but rats and ghosts of a past where electricity had once ruled the world.

"How close to the boarder do you think we are?" Charlie asked over her shoulder, the first thing she'd said to him in over an hour. She paused at a crossroad, next to a burned out SUV, looking up and down the weed-choked streets, before glancing at him.

"Only two or three clicks to the north, would be my guess."

"Do you think we'll be able to see it from up there?" She pointed upward, where a towering smokestack butted up against the side of a squat, four-storey brick building.

He shot her a grin. "What did Miles say about stupid?"

Charlie shrugged, hands hooking into the pockets of her pants. "I never said I wanted to climb to the top, that would definitely be stupid. I just want to get above street level, see the lay of the land. We are supposed to be scouting, after all."

"I'm game if you are." He held a hand out and inclined his head. "After you."

She brushed by him, an irreverent grin tilting up her lips. "Oh, so now you're a gentleman?"

That teasing glint in her clear blue gaze, it shot a dose of heat straight down his spine, a bit like a few days back when Rachel had knocked him out with what should have been a lethal cocktail of drugs.

"I may be many things, Charlotte, but never let it be said I'm not a gentleman."

The look she sent him in return told him she didn't believe one word he'd said.

"Come on, we're losing daylight." She adjusted the strap of her crossbow over her shoulders, setting the weapon at her back as they took an alley down the side of the building, finding a rusted fire escape halfway along.

Charlie stopped and gripped the railing, before looking over at him. "You think its sound?"

He brushed by her, setting his boot on the first step. "We're about to find out."

With cautious steps, he climbed on, the stairs groaning with the protest of tired metal as he made his way upward. He kept his hand wrapped tight around the rail, ready to catch his own weight if the steps went out from underneath him. But he made it to the first landing without incident.

He glanced down at Charlie, standing below him. "I think it'll hold, come on."

For a moment, he watched as she started up the stairs, before dropping his palm to the hilt of his sword and continuing up. Another half dozen flights later, he ducked low as he approached the lip of the roof.

A quick look over revealed nothing but cracked pitch and the occasional swirl of dust on the light evening breeze. He sensed Charlie coming up behind him, and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Looks clear, but let's keep our eyes open."

She nodded, her lips pressed into a grim line.

He took her hand, helping her over the edge of the roof, before vaulting himself over.

Charlie had her crossbow out, and he kept both palms on his weapons as they ran low across the open space of the roof to a half-collapsed cooling tower, before moving onto a second one closer to the opposite side of the roof.

Bass crouched and pulled out his binoculars, before ducking to look around the corner. As he'd expected, the boarder separating Texas from the Plains Nation was a high razor-wire fence, about two miles north of their position. Even from here, flashes of tan told him the perimeter was being heavily guarded by the Patriots. Considering the numbers of soldiers he was seeing, he and Charlie were probably lucky they hadn't run across any other patrols in the past hour.

Charlie's shoulder bumped up against him. "What do you see?"

"Patriots, a lot of them." He lowered the binoculars, and handed them off to her, before dragging a hand across the lower half of his face.

"The boarder is crawling with them. If Horn took Aaron into the Plains Nation, then we're going to be in for a serious a fight to get across there."

"Well, let's hope Miles and Rachel found some sign of them, because we haven't managed to find anything but Patriots and more Patriots." He eased back from the corner, and half turned in his crouch. "We should head—"

The flash of setting sun off the muzzle of a rifle was the only warning Bass got, before bricks and mortar a few inches from his head exploded, sending shards slicing across his face.

"Charlie, get down!" Bass reached behind himself, yanking out the gun from the back of his pants, returning cover fire toward the roof of the building next door as Charlie let fly an arrow, before sprinting for the other cooling tower.

Bass waited until she'd disappeared behind it, before standing and sending a volley toward the Patriots, who ducked for cover behind the edge of the building. He ran for the cooling tower, pausing to empty the chamber of his gun, keeping the bastards from returning fire for the moment.

He dropped behind the cover of the half-collapsed cooling tower and glanced over at Charlie as he loosed the cartridge out of his gun and rammed in a new one.

"Are you okay?"

She sent him a single nod. "You?"

A trickle ran down the side of his face, and he swiped his hand across it, finding a smear of blood on his fingers. "I've had worse. We need to get off this roof."

She brought up the crossbow. "You go first, I'll keep them distracted."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "You're going to fight their machine guns with your arrows? You're good, Charlie, but you're not that good. I'm the one with the gun. You go ahead and I'll see you at the bottom."

She frowned, her lips pressing together, and he could see her mind working behind her too-expressive gaze, she was thinking about arguing with him.

"You better be right behind me. You know Miles will be pissed off if you get yourself killed and I end up wandering around here by myself."

"And you're obviously so choked up about the possibility." He shifted position, closing his gun into a two-handed grip.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Monroe, I'd be real devastated. Might even shed a tear."

"Nice to know you appreciate me," he muttered, turning his attention to where the patriot soldiers were letting off sporadic shots.

He leaned out around the corner, aiming a few bullets in their direction, but he was too far out of range to do any real damage. A quick glance over his shoulder reveled Charlie hurdling the low wall to the fire escape.

Bass stood and let off a few more rounds, backing up several steps. As he did, the pitch beneath his feet became uneven, and he half stumbled. Suddenly, there didn't seem to be anything firm beneath his boots. He put a hand out, trying to regain his balance, but everything solid was disappearing. His breath ripped from his lungs, suffocating him as he reached out, scrambling for something to grab hold off, to stop himself from getting sucked into the darkness. But he couldn't find anything except loosening debris, and then there was nothing below him as the shadows sucked him under.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie paused on the second flight of stairs down as a cracking noise overshadowed the chatter of machine gunfire. The entire fire escape rattled and she slapped both hands onto the railing, holding on as the mortar crumbled from the walls and the splintering, crunching noise continued.

And then it all stopped, as abruptly as it had started. Charlie sucked a breath into her tight chest, while her heart hammered against the inside of her ribs. What the hell was that? A few stray pieces of mortar skittered down, and standing on the fire escape no longer seemed like such a great idea. She made her hands unclamp from the rough, rusted railing, and turned toward the ground, but then the absolute silence rammed her like a punch to the stomach.

Where was Monroe? She glanced up, and her feet started moving before she'd even finished the thought. At the top of the stairs, the landing had come loose from the wall, leaving more than a foot gap for her to leap. But she didn't even pause, throwing herself across the short distance and then scrambling over the wall. She skidded to a stop, because less than four steps away, a gaping hole stretched where the roof used to be.

"Monroe!" She dropped to her hands and knees, scrabbling toward the edge to look down. "Monroe!"

Nothing but her echo answered, and some loose fragments tumbled down from around her. The next breath she took, dust hit the back of her throat and she coughed, easing back from the edge. Her heart tripped over itself as she pushed herself upright. She had to get in there, find where Monroe had gone down, and get him out before that patrol made their way over to search for them.

Charlie clattered down the fire escape stairs, slipping a couple of times as she missed the edges of a few steps in her haste. She hit the alleyway at a run, but instead of going back toward the street where they'd scouted in from, she headed deeper into the alley, finding her way blocked by a chain-link fence. The far right corner curled up from the ground, and Charlie pushed through, coming up onto a bank of loading bays. One of the metal roller doors had long been damaged, maybe since the power had gone out. She scrambled up the concrete dock and ducked into the dark interior of the factory.

It took a moment to orientate herself in the thick shadows, and she skirted a couple of listing pallets as she picked the direction that would take her back toward where the roof had caved in. Half way along the wall, she came across a set of stairs, connecting the gangways that crisscrossed the upper levels. She went up to the top, and then continued deeper into the building. If Monroe had only fallen through one level, then he'd be up here somewhere. If the floors below the roof had given way and he'd fallen all the way to the bottom—

She tightened her fingers, clutched around her crossbow, unable to finish the thought. It shouldn't matter if Monroe died. She'd spent months focused on nothing but the thought of killing him, and only a few days ago, she'd come to terms with the fact of his life ending when Texas had sentenced him to death. But right now, in this moment, for some stupid reason it _did_ matter. Maybe because the idea that Sebastian Monroe had been taken out by something as random as a roof collapsing seemed beyond comprehension.

She pushed through a door, coming out onto an upper factory floor, and what little light was left from the setting sun sliced in through the missing roof.

"Monroe?" All she could make out in front of her was roof debris and destroyed machinery. God, she didn't even know where to start searching in this mess.

She picked her way forward, careful where she placed her feet. The last thing she needed was to break her ankle on a piece of twisted wreckage. "Monroe?"

"Charlie."

The uneven, hoarse reply of her name brought a hot shaft of relief surging within her, even as the underlying tenor of his voice sent icicles slicing through her veins.

"Where are you?" She stepped farther into the wreckage, pushing by some hanging cables.

"Over here." A cough followed the husky words, and Charlie moved through the rubble a bit faster. She rounded the hulking remnants of a machine, coming up on Monroe against the other side.

"Hey." She moved around him and crouched down, thankful to find him sitting up, lucid, and seemingly in one piece. "What was that, Monroe, trying to get me to feel sorry for you?"

He gave a short, pained laugh. "Yeah, I thought falling through a roof would win me a few points."

She grabbed his shoulder. "Well, come on, let's get out of here."

He grimaced. "Yeah, we might have a problem with that."

The icicles in her blood cut sharper. "Are you hurt?"

He lifted his left hand and cupped his right shoulder. "Whether or not I'm hurt probably needs to be a secondary consideration to the fact I'm stuck."

She followed the line of his right arm, for the first time noticing how it was stretched out and above his head. At his elbow, his shirt was shredded and bloody; his forearm tangled in a network of cables and twisted metal.

"Oh, no," she murmured.

"Yeah, that was the Disney version of my thoughts when I realized I couldn't get free." He shifted, his expression tensing for a moment.

Charlie pushed to her feet. "Let me take a look."

She slid her knife out of the sheath at her belt and ducked her head closer to the mess of wires, rubber, and metal fragments. "What the hell is this?"

"I think it was a conveyer belt at one stage," he replied, his voice catching. She couldn't imagine how much pain he must be in.

"A conveyer belt?"

"They were like moving tracks, connecting between machines— Look, how about we save the history lesson for later? Can you pull me free, or not?"

She leaned closer. Hard to see anything when the sun had finally set, leaving them with next to no light. Reaching out, she wrapped a hand around his biceps, just above his elbow. With a steady hold, she slid the tip of the blade underneath the topmost twist of wire. A flick of her wrist shredded some rubber, but the wire and metal stayed twinned deep against his flesh, blood making everything slippery.

Monroe tensed next to her, making a low sound through his clenched jaw. She glanced at his face, a fine sheen of sweat beading over his pale complexion.

"The wires are cutting in deep, and my knife isn't sharp enough to cut them without shredding your arm in the process. I'll have to try pulling you out."

He tilted his head back, focusing off into the distance, tight muscles in his neck standing out in stark relief. "Just do what you have to, Charlie."

She nodded and returned her attention to the bloody mess of his arm as she sheathed her knife. This time, she slid her fingers beneath the tight wires, firming up her grip above his elbow. Setting her shoulders, she took a slow breath, and then gave a sharp tug. Monroe arched against the wall of the machine and she paused.

"Don't stop, Charlie," he panted, reaching up to grab her shoulder with his free hand. "Pull harder."

She clenched her teeth and forced her fingers deeper, feeling the warm dribble of Monroe's blood sliding over her hand. This time when she tugged, he braced himself and pulled from his shoulder. His other hand clamped around her upper arm, clenching into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

But the tangle wouldn't come free of his arm, and the blood started flowing faster.

"Stop, I think we're making things worse."

He dropped back against the machine, his breathing harsh in the relative silence of the empty factory.

Rolling his head to the side, he focused his pain-glazed gaze on her. "If I can't get free, you've got to leave me, Charlie."

She scoffed, dropping into a crouch in front of him, since her legs had gone all unsteady beneath her. "I'm not leaving you, Monroe, so stop talking stupid. If the situation was reversed, I know you wouldn't leave me."

"Yeah, but only because Miles would have my ass in a sling if I even thought about leaving you trapped in a half-collapsed factory."

She pinned him with a hard stare. "Is that the only reason you wouldn't leave me?"

For a long moment, he stared back at her, an unreadable expression crossing his face, something intense gleaming in his blue eyes. His lips quirked upward for a moment, before he dropped his gaze. "You got me there. I guess since I went to so much trouble saving you from those rapist bastards in the Plains Nation, I'm not going to waste the effort and have you die on me."

His flippant answer was about what she'd expected, but she could have sworn for a moment she'd seen something else, something deeper in his gaze. She shook her head and then glanced at their dark surroundings while she got her thoughts back on track. "Yeah, well I'm not the one currently hanging like a turkey before getting spit-roasted. So how about we find some way to get you free before those Patriots who were shooting at us come looking?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bass sucked in a slicing breath, the pain radiating down from his right arm enough to make him light headed. Wires and metal cut into his flesh, and every time he moved, they dug deeper, lacerating more skin. The steady _drip-drip-drip_ on the metal grate flooring next to him told him he was losing blood, though in the dark it was hard to tell how much. He might be another two minutes from bleeding out and he wouldn't have had a clue.

Charlie had pulled out a lighter, and was using the meager flame to examine his arm. He understood her loyalty — though couldn't work out why he deserved it, especially after everything he'd done — and her stubbornness quite clearly ran in the family. But she couldn't stay here with him, not if it meant the possibility of her getting caught and killed by the Patriots.

"Seriously, Charlie, you have to leave me here. Go find help, get Miles and Rachel or something, but I'm not going to let you sit here while the Patriots corner us like rats in a trap, or the rest of the building falls in around us."

She moved back from his arm and sent him an irritated glare, snapping the lighter closed. "Like I said, I'm not going anywhere."

He clenched his fist, pain and frustration giving everything a hazy edge. "Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?"

"Its one of my more charming qualities." She added a biting grin to her words, before turning to pull her pack closer. "At least let me see if I can stem some of that bleeding until we work out a way to get you free."

She pulled out one of her shirts, and then unsheathed her knife, before cutting the material into lengths.

A groaning of metal made her pause, and Bass glanced up, his heart slamming up into his throat.

"Charlie, get back. I mean it; move your ass out of this wreckage right now!"

She shoved to her feet, skittering back a few steps as the groaning continued getting louder, the sound of crumbling debris adding to the cacophony.

"Bass—" She started to take a step forward.

"You can't help me if you end up hurt yourself." He held out an unsteady hand to stop her coming any closer.

Something cracked, and the wires around his forearm tightened. He looked over at his damaged hand, a sliver of dread cutting through him. The tangle jerked tighter, pulling the twisted limb farther out. Pain screamed through his arm, shooting straight into his chest and radiating out through the rest of his body. He got dragged sideways a few inches, and then started listing, unable to hold himself up as darkness ate away the edges of his vision, blurring consciousness.

"Bass. _Bass!_ " Gentle hands cupped his face and he forced his eyes open, made his swimming vision focus on Charlie right in front of him.

"I though I told you to go." The words came out broken and uneven.

She shook her head, lips tense and concern in her too-honest blue gaze. "I waited until everything stopped moving, you've been out of it for nearly twenty minutes."

Hell, twenty minutes in which she could have been cornered by the Patriots. He couldn't believe they hadn't been found already. He shifted himself straighter, clenching his teeth at the resulting ache in the right side of his body. It was a damn side better than the pulling and tearing he'd endured when those wires had yanked him.

"Can I still claim a right arm, or is it now hanging from the rafters?"

Charlie let out a short laugh, though it sounded suspiciously watery. The stubborn girl wouldn't cry though. It'd take a hell of a lot to make Charlotte Matheson cry, and he wasn't under any delusions to think his own possible demise could do it.

"I like that you can still make jokes at a time like this."

The effort of getting himself mostly upright stole what little steady breath he'd regained, and he huffed a few short puffs of air. "I've nearly died so many times, at this point, the idea of losing an arm doesn't seem like anything to get hysterical over."

She shook her head. "Yeah, but you'll be one sword down, and if we're going to beat the Patriots, we'll need everyone's limbs in working order."

A dull thud echoed from somewhere below them, followed by the hollow resonance of low voices. _Ah, hell_. Their luck had just run out.

Bass reached up and gripped Charlie's shoulder. "I know we've already had this conversation, and I'm sure your answer is going to be the same, but please, Charlie. You have to go before those sons of bitches find you."

"No, because if they find you, they're not going to cut you free, they'll put a bullet between your eyes."

He tightened his fingers on her shoulder and pulled her closer. "And I'm fine with that. But I'm _not_ fine with you meeting the same fate. I've got enough blood on my hands; I refuse to be responsible for your death as well."

"It's my choice; you're not responsible for me. If anything happens, then that's on me, not you."

Helpless, futile anger crested the wave of his pain. "Damn it, Charlie. A few weeks ago, you wanted to kill me yourself. Why can't you just walk away and let someone else do the dirty work for you?"

Antagonism touched her expression. "Things change. Besides, Miles seems to think we need you if we've got even half a chance of beating the Patriots. I'm not going to walk off and let you make a martyr out of yourself."

He forced out a rough laugh. "I don't think getting what I deserve would make me a martyr. I think most people would call it justice."

Her hand came up to close around his forearm. "It wouldn't be justice, not if you go out like this. For the last time, I'm not leaving you, so shut the hell up before they hear us."

If he hadn't been in so much damned pained, he probably would have laughed at her audacity, ordering General Sebastian Monroe to shut the hell up. A few months ago, no one would have dared talk to him like that, or he would have replied with a bullet in their face. Actually, there had been one last person who'd felt he could talk that freely, and in those final moments, Jeremy had told him a few home truths. His insides clenched, recalling the moment he'd learned he'd ordered his last remaining friend killed for nothing, that the paranoia Jeremy had accused him of had won out over his sanity. Out of his many dark deeds, that had been the wake up call telling him what Miles had tried to in the dead of the night with a gun to his head; that he'd gone so far past the line, he couldn't see it any longer.

Discovering he had a son out there had taken another chink out of the cold armor he'd built around himself. He hated that Miles had hidden the kid from him, but if their situations had been reversed, Bass probably would have done the same. At some point in the last ten years, he'd gotten lost, and only waded father and father into a darkness he hadn't been able to see a way out of. Losing everything he and Miles had built had been freeing, even as the knowledge that those people in the Monroe Republic who'd relied on him had been abandoned dragged at his soul; some obliterated by nukes, others wallowing in fallout sickness, and many starving and in need. He couldn't help them now, and maybe he hadn't helped them all that much when he'd been in charge, so focused on weaponizing his army and striking down his enemies.

Forcing his head up, he focused on Charlie, this girl who'd brought him back to the only family he had left, even if they didn't want him around. He'd hurt them all too much, had racked up too many sins for them to ever trust or forgive him. But he'd do anything to find his son, and have Miles call him a brother again.

A door slammed closer, and Charlie glanced over her shoulder. He let his hand drop from her upper arm as she shifted away from him, pulling some of the debris closer around them. After arranging a few bits to each side of him, she moved father away, coming back a second later, dragging a decent sized piece of drywall. She backed up against him, pulling the drywall in front of her, shielding them from sight as a door creaked too close, followed by the clear order of a soldier telling an unknown number of men to search the wreckage.

In the enclosed space, he could hear the soft resonance of Charlie's breathing, syncing with the rapidly increasing pound of his heart. Boot-steps echoed all around them, overlaid by the crunching, clattering noise of debris being moved. The wires around his arm gave a sharp tug, and he clenched his jaw against making any noise, while the agony in his arm burned higher. Charlie must have sensed something, because she glanced over her shoulder at him. With a slight shift, she eased back, pressing herself against his chest. The light contact shot through his pain-drenched body, numbing him out for a blissful second. But then the wires jerked again, wrenching the blaze through him higher. He blindly reached out and snagged a handful of Charlie's shirt, twisting his fist in the material as he locked his whole body against yelling out. He lowered his face, resting his forehead against the middle of her back, breath tearing hard in and out of his lungs.

No matter how much torment he was in, he couldn't let himself make the slightest noise, not for his own benefit, but for Charlie's sake. He couldn't be responsible for her getting caught, couldn't sit here trapped and watch the Patriot soldiers do god-knew what to her. He'd walked in on that scenario once before, and the cold rage he'd felt at the idea of those bastards even thinking about laying their hands on Charlie had eclipsed anything he'd felt in all the years he'd been in charge of the Monroe Militia.

The boot-steps got closer, and Charlie pressed back harder against him. He felt her hand brush his hip, before she drew his sword with a slow, measured movement, metal hissing as it freed the sheath. He'd never run from a fight, but for the first time in his life, Bass found himself praying that he and Charlie could get out of this without bloodshed.


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie shifted her weight, her left leg starting to cramp. The Patriots had searched the wreckage for what seemed like hours, and though they'd come close a couple of times, hadn't managed to find her and Bass behind the pile of debris she'd covered them in.

The soldiers had marched out again, heading for a different section of the factory, but she hadn't moved, listening to the sounds of them searching elsewhere, while Bass leaned heavily against her back. He'd fallen still and quiet awhile ago, and for a heart-pounding second, she'd thought he'd stopped breathing. But it seemed he'd only lost consciousness again, his warm breath rhythmic against her shoulder blades.

After an immeasurable time, crouching in the dark, the Patriots had finally left, but she hadn't dared move, wanting to be sure they weren't coming back, or weren't hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for her and Bass to reveal themselves.

However, she couldn't sit here all night. Eventually, she would have to find a way to get Bass free, or make the untenable decision to leave him so she could go find Miles and her mom.

With a long, unsteady breath, she slowly pushed the drywall away from herself, one hand on her crossbow as the shadowed factory came into view. At some point in the past hour, the moon had climbed into the sky beyond the gaping roof, and now everything was bathed in bright, blue-white light.

As she shifted away from Bass, he stirred, his head bobbing a little before slowly lifting.

"Charlie?"

She moved closer, cupping her hand along his jaw, his whiskers abrasive against her palm. "I'm right here, Bass."

"Are they gone?" His voice was thready over the words.

"Yeah, they're gone, we're safe for now." She leaned over and snagged her pack, before pulling out her canteen.

She unscrewed the lid and then held it up toward him, but he didn't move to take it, just stared at her, his eyes catching the moonlight.

"Its just water, Bass," she said, repeating his words from earlier.

"Ha-ha, that's funny." He lifted his free hand, taking the canteen out of her grasp, but keeping a steady gaze on her, until a weird kind of hyper-awareness streamed through her.

"What?"

"You've never called me Bass before. Usually I get Monroe, or if I'm really lucky, some names that aren't fit for the ears of children."

He was right. At some point between all the bleeding and hiding, she'd started calling him by name, which had somehow changed things between them in a way she didn't want to consider right now.

She shrugged off his words, trying to act indifferent to cover the shock of her own inner revelation. "It's just your name, what's the big deal?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping away for a moment as he handed her canteen back. "Nothing, it's just the mind-numbing pain talking."

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to get you free. We'll take another look at it. Now that the moon is up, I should be able to see a little more clearly."

His expression closed up, and he gave a tight nod.

"Even if I can't do it on my own, Miles and my mom would have realized something's up by now, since we're at least two hours overdue to meet up with them."

"So they can come looking and get pinned down by a patrolling party as well, that'll work out great."

She glanced at him sharply, but he wasn't looking at her. "There's no need to get your underwear all bunched up over it. You know they're more than capable of dealing with a few Patriots."

"Sorry, but sitting here with my arm slowly getting ripped to shreds isn't exactly putting me in a good mood," he muttered.

"Yeah, well bitching me out isn't going to help the situation either." She moved sideways and pushed some more debris out of the way to get closer to his damaged arm. The mess of wires, rubber and metal looked like it was cutting in even deeper now than it had been before. She reached into the mess to touch his fingers.

"Can you feel your hand?"

His fingers twitched beneath hers. "Yeah, but only just. Everything past my elbow is pretty numb."

In the light of the moon, the tangle didn't look any less complicated that it had before. At least whatever had been dragging on the other end had stopped moving. Unfortunately, she couldn't get a clear idea on how she was going to get him out of there by herself, and the last thing she wanted to do was make it any worse.

With a low sigh, she dropped to sit next to him. "I'm sorry, its bad, and I can't see a way of pulling you free. If Miles and my mom haven't found us by dawn, I'll head out to look for them."

His hand covered hers, and he squeezed her fingers for a long moment. "It's okay, Charlie."

She tilted her head to the side, finding him looking at her, his face close to hers.

"Shouldn't I be the one comforting you?" She asked, her voice low and quiet.

"We'll take it in turns."

She nodded, and then turned her gaze out over the moonlit wreckage, a stirring of discomfit within her at having him so close, but for some stupid reason, she didn't want to move away from him. There was something almost addictive in the feeling of having him pressed up against her side. Ever since she'd woken up from being drugged and found Sebastian Monroe had been her apparent savior, her hatred of him had slipped to simple loathing. By the time they'd made it back to Willoughby and he'd been strapped to a table for an execution, she'd started feeling a lot of potent things, none of which she should have for the man ultimately responsible for killing her father and brother.

"Why did you stay, Charlie?" The quiet question broke into her churning thoughts. "And don't give me the lines about Miles needing me to fight the Patriots, or returning the favor, or any of that bullshit. We both know I don't deserve to be saved by you."

She glanced up at him, this time not finding his close proximity so unsettling.

"I don't know, and that's the truth. I guess no matter who you are, I couldn't walk out and leave you, knowing what the outcome would probably be. Why is it so important for you to know?"

He shrugged his good shoulder, the action flippant, yet his expression was intense. "I just like to know where I stand with people. I have this thing about being stabbed in the back, literally and figuratively."

A low shiver passed under her skin. Why did she get the feeling he was testing her in some way?

"Yeah, well I guess that's not surprising considering all the people you've screwed over."

He gave a surprised laugh, and the sound had a definite lethal edge to it. "Tell me like it is, Charlie."

She cut him an annoyed look, not finding anything the least bit funny in the topic. "What do you expect me to say, Monroe? I'm not going to sit here and pretend you didn't kill half my family, and countless other people. Just because you should have died and got a second chance doesn't wipe the slate clean."

His free hand came up to catch her cheek. "You gave me that second chance, Charlie. If you hadn't talked to your mom—"

She pulled out of his hold and stood. "Don't make it more complicated than it is. Miles said we needed you, and since he's about the only person in the whole damn world I trust, I took him at his word."

Charlie backed up a few steps, keeping her expression hard, afraid he'd see the truth in her eyes if she stayed too close to him. It hadn't just been Miles' statement that had spurred her on to lay it all out to her mom. The bald truth was, Bass' actions since she'd found him in the Plains Nation had slightly, but surely changed her opinion about him, even though she'd tried to hold on to her convictions of what was right and wrong. And the more time she spent with him, especially after he'd woken up from the supposed lethal injection, the more she could see something underneath his hard exterior, something she didn't want to recognize, but drew her all the same.

Over-hearing his conversation with Miles concerning his son hadn't helped either. She shouldn't have been surprised that Bass had a son out there somewhere, after all, he'd already been an adult by the time the lights had gone out. Despite the fact he claimed he was only helping them so he could get the kid's whereabouts out of Miles, she didn't quite believe him. He could have left her in the school, but he'd come back, and there was a part of her trying to insist his actions went deeper than a simple exchange in information.

She turned away from him, needing some space to get her thoughts back on track.

"Where are you going?"

She paused at Bass' sharp words, telling herself she'd imagined the hint of panic in his tone.

"I need some fresh air. I'm going to check where that patrol went after they left here."

"Be careful, Charlie."

She nodded, but didn't look back at him as she walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

Bass clenched his good fist and thumped it against the machine next to him as Charlie disappeared from sight. What did she expect from him? He'd never set out to apologize for who he was or what he'd done. He couldn't change the past, so what was the point? Yet Charlie had the power to make him feel every single one of the sins he'd committed, burning in the heart and soul he'd long denied having. He'd accused Miles of going soft, and now maybe he could see how it had happened, because when the blue-eyed tough girl looked at him in just the right way, a miniscule part of him wanted to become a better man. And how idiotic was that?

The silence closed in around him, and he dragged a hand over his face before leaning his head back against the cold, unforgiving metal at his back. Spasms of pain radiated down from his arm every now and then. Without Charlie there to distract him, every ache nagged at him, until a fresh sheen of clammy sweat covered his skin.

After the moonlit shadows had shifted a few inches across the floor, footsteps echoed, and he released a long breath. He opened his mouth to call out, but the thud of the tread registered, heavier and shorter steps than Charlie took.

Bass reached down and wrapped his left hand around the hilt of his sword, before pressing back into the shadows. The movement burned through his shoulder, but he clamped his teeth together and shifted into a crouch. He might be trapped, but if one of those Patriots had come back, he wouldn't be going down without a fight.

A shadowy figure moved into his sight, tan uniform a beacon in the moonlight, while white-blue reflected off the muzzle of they guy's M16. What he wouldn't give to get his hands on that weapon.

The soldier moved in a sweeping pattern, being careful not to disturb the wreckage or make any noise, unlike the patrol who had partied through here earlier. So the Patriots hadn't managed to find them, and sent back a single scout working in stealth. Cold fury erupted within him. Had they found Charlie, while he'd been sitting here, so godamn helpless?

The soldier moved farther into the shadows, and then out of sight around the next bank of machines.

Bass clenched the sword hilt in his palm, glancing along his offside, before returning his attention to where the soldier had disappeared. A slight scraping noise drew his attention back toward the door, and this time the light foot steps were all too familiar. Charlie stepped into view, carrying an assault rifle, no doubt appropriated from a Patriot who'd been dumb enough to take her on.

He raised his hand and she stopped in her tracks. He held up one finger and then gestured in the direction the soldier had disappeared. She brought the rifle up and nodded, but as she went to turn, a shadow loomed up on her right side.

"Charlie!" Bass half stood, forgetting his tangled arm until the limb jerked him back with a wrenching combustion of pain.

The Patriot had gotten the drop on her, coming around on her blind side. The rifle she'd been holding clattered to the ground as the soldier took her down to the floor.

White-hot rage poured through him, and he tugged against the wires holding him, the adrenaline pumping through his system numbing out the pain. He had to get free, had to help her before that Patriot soldier hurt her.

But Charlie didn't stay down for long, she clocked the guy with an elbow to the jaw and then scrambled out from underneath him. The soldier didn't give up so easily and tried to grab her legs as she went for the gun, which only earned him a kick in the face.

Charlie reached for the gun, but the soldier had clambered to his feet and knocked it away as he wrapped his arms around her. The rifle slid along the floor, coming to rest up against a pile of debris just off to his left.

Bass reached out, inching his fingers across the floor, while a tearing sensation burned through his shoulder, to the point it felt like his arm was going to wrench out of joint. But he had to get the gun, it was the only thing he could do.

He glanced up, and in the time he hadn't been looking, the soldier had forced Charlie down to the floor, fighting to keep her wrists pinned while she bucked beneath him.

"No, godamn it!" Bass locked his jaw and forced himself to stretch farther, blinking against the sweat dripping into his eyes, making his vision swim until he could hardly even focus on the strap of the rifle, less than a hair out of reach.

Charlie screeched, but he couldn't look back at her now, not when he was so close. The tips of his fingers grazed the edge of the strap, and he dragged at the thick leather, a frustrated noise escaping through his teeth as he desperately scrabbled for purchase. The strap moved, at last shifting closer under his grasp, until he could close his fist around it. He dragged the rifle in and pushed himself upright, swaying as his pain-soaked brain sloshed around in his skull.

The soldier was still struggling to pin Charlie, and Bass focused his blurred vision on the hulking form crouched over her. He brought the gun up in his free hand, the muzzle wavering before he steadied it. But just as he touched his finger to the trigger, the soldier jerked, before making a gurgling noise and collapsing on top of her. A moment later, the body rolled to the side, a knife sticking out from the middle of his chest.

"Charlie?" His voice broke over the word, and he swallowed as he let the gun fall out of his hand.

"I'm okay." She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Are you sure?" His heart hammered against the inside of his chest as the adrenaline drained fast. He wanted to get up and go over to her, to grab her shoulder and see for himself that she was still in one piece. A new smolder of aggravation blazed through him and he jerked at his trapped arm. Except all that got him was a wave of agony, and another surge of unfocussed dizziness.

"Bass. It's okay, I said I was okay."

A hand lightly touched his shoulder, but he couldn't look up at her, instead he pressed his fingers against his eyes, waiting for the wooziness to pass.

"It's not okay, Charlie. It's not okay that I'm trussed up like a godamn turkey for thanks giving. I can't protect you, not like this. And you can't help me. You have to leave. Leave, and don't come back until you've found Miles."

"No one asked you to protect me, Monroe." The indignant tone to Charlie's words rang loud and clear.

He looked up at her. She had a split lip, blood smeared at the corner of her mouth, and a darkening welt on her left cheek. The injuries made his inside clench, shooting ice through his veins. That had been too close.

"Miles did. Your mom did. Maybe not in so many words, but I'm the adult here, they entrusted you to my care."

She stood, one hand landing on her hip, anger in ever line of her body. "You're the _adult_ here? And what am I, some dumb kid who doesn't know the first thing about the world?"

Bass scrubbed a hand through his hair. He'd never had trouble putting his thoughts into sensible words before, maybe the blood loss was messing with his mind.

"I didn't mean it like that, Charlie, and you know it."

"Yeah? Then how did you mean it?"

He sighed, long and low. "I just mean that Miles wouldn't want you to stay here and protect me if it put you in danger. And quite clearly it does."

She stared at him for a long, silent moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Had she finally decided to listen to him?

"The whole block is crawling with Patriots. I'd be in just as much danger out there as I am in here. The sun will be up in a few hours, and then I'll see about finding Miles if he and my mom don't turn up in the meantime."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn stubborn girl."

She shot him a glare. "I can hear you."

She turned her back on him and went over to the dead soldier, efficiently stripping him of weapons, before grabbing his ankles and dragging him out of sight. She came back a moment later and dropped to sit down beside him, this time leaving a good three feet between them. She laid both the guns along the floor next to her, within easy reach, and then crossed her arms and stared off in the opposite direction from him.

Alienating people had long ago become a fact of life for him, but putting Charlie offside raked uncomfortably down his spine. However, it was better for both of them if she remembered to hate him. He was not a good person, and history had proven time and time again that anyone who ever got too close to him ended up hurt or dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Charlie blinked her eyes open, forcing herself not to slip into the doze she'd been fighting for the past two hours. Bass had fallen asleep not five minutes after she'd sat down, and when he'd started tilting to the side, she'd cursed at herself, even as she'd moved closer and let his head drop against her shoulder.

Pre-dawn had brought a definite chill into the air, and she'd pressed closer into his side, soaking up as much warmth from him as she could. Now, gray shades of dawn were giving way to the brighter colors of sunrise.

In the strengthening light, the washed-out pallor of Bass' skin stirred a hornet's nest of worry in her stomach. The pool of blood beneath his arm was bigger than she'd expected it to be. How much blood had he lost? There was no two ways about it, somehow she had to get him out of there, sooner rather than later.

A slight shuffle snapped her fully into awareness, and she brought the gun up, finding a target as a form moved out from behind the rubble.

"Uncle Miles." She let the gun lower, and Miles glanced toward her, her mom appearing a step behind him. Relief ran thick and warm through her at the sight.

"Hey there, Charlie. We've been looking for you all night."

"How did you find us?" She set the gun aside as Miles and her mom came closer.

Miles sent her a faintly offended look. "You're not the only one in the family who can track, you know."

Her mom cut Miles an exasperated look. "We overheard a couple of Patriots talking a few blocks over."

Miles smiled, the expression a little sheepish. "And we overheard some Patriots talking. They said something about a gun fight and collapsed building, we figured you two must be in the middle of it."

Charlie glanced back at her mom, and saw the assessing, curious look Rachel passed from her, to where Bass was sleeping against her shoulder. In one second flat, her mom had made her feel like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been.

She gently pushed Bass upright, before shifting away, and the motion seemed to rouse him.

"Charlie?" The word was slightly slurred.

Miles crouched down, bracing a hand against Bass' left shoulder to help keep him upright. "Hey, Bass, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

Bass rubbed a hand over his face and blinked a couple of times, seeming to become more lucid. But there was still an unfocused sheen to his gaze.

"I've just been hanging around, waiting for your sorry ass to turn up."

Miles shifted to the side and touched the mess that was Bass' arm.

"Now who's the handicapable schmuck?"

Bass gave a tight, pained laugh. "Well, you made it look so good, Miles, I thought I needed to give it a try."

"All right, let's get a better look, here. Rachel, you want to tell me what you think?"

Rachel walked over and picked up the nearly empty canteen. "Before we do anything, we need to get a tourniquet on this arm and rehydrate him."

Charlie hung back, while Miles and her mom tied a length of material just above Bass' elbow. Following that, they took a closer look at the damage, before tracing where the rest of the conveyer belt disappeared into a machine. After a few minutes, they came back again, and Miles crouched down to offer Bass some water.

Miles kept a neutral expression on his face, but Charlie could see the grimness in his dark gaze. "I was hoping we could disconnect the conveyer belt from the machine and worry about getting the mess off your arm once we were holed up safe somewhere, but without a drill or a toolbox, its not going to happen."

Her mom caught her eye, and nodded her head to the side.

Charlie glanced at where Miles and Bass were talking quietly, before standing and joining her mom over by a busted-out window.

"It's not good, Charlie," her mom murmured.

She nodded. "I figured that."

Yeah, she'd guessed things were looking bad for Bass, but confirmation from her mom still made a heavy, sick feeling pitch through her stomach.

"He's lost a lot of blood and the only way to get him free might be to amputate the arm."

Charlie took a step back, shock jolting her entire body. "You want to cut off his arm?"

"I know it sounds extreme, but we need to get him out of there. The Patriots are still searching the area, and if we don't get Bass out soon, he might bleed to death anyway."

"Yeah, and he also might die when you cut off his freaking arm!"

"I know it's hard to hear, Charlie, and I can see that there's something going on between you and Bass—"

"There is _nothing_ going on between me and Monroe. I told Miles once before, I wouldn't ever let him touch me."

Her mom shook her head. "I'm not talking about something physical, Charlie. Maybe you simply feel indebted to him for saving you, or maybe it's something more. I don't accept it, but I can understand, Bass has always been very charismatic—"

"Can we not do this right now? I told you its nothing. I wouldn't have left a dog trapped here if I knew the Patriots were going to kill it. Don't forget who was responsible for killing Dad and Danny."

Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line. "Tom Neville was responsible for killing your father. And Danny? Well, Bass played a part in it, but Danny didn't have to be the one who picked up that grenade launcher. There were a dozen other people there who could have taken that shot. Ever since your grandpa—" She paused and swallowed, before taking an unsteady breath. "The last few days, I've been thinking about a lot of things, and I came to the conclusion that holding onto hatred, to misconceptions of the truth, wouldn't get me anywhere."

Charlie stared at her mom as numb grief and disbelief stole through her. All this time, she'd thought they agreed on this at least, that no matter how he tried to atone, Monroe would always be the bad guy, directly to blame for Danny's death. But now her mom was trying to convince her it wasn't Monroe's fault after all?

"Rachel?" Miles glanced up at them.

Her mom squeezed her shoulder and shot her a reassuring smile, before walking over to crouch next to Miles.

Charlie hugged her arms around herself and stared out through the broken window as the sun touched the top of the nearby buildings. She didn't know what she felt for Bass, there were too many conflicting emotions raging through her. But she certainly didn't hate him any longer, and she definitely didn't want him to die, or lose his arm.

"I'm sorry, you want to do _what_?"

Bass' raised voice grabbed her attention, and she shook off the churning thoughts, before walking over to join the three of them.

"You've lost a lot of blood, Bass, you can't afford to sit here and lose any more," Miles replied.

"And what do you think is going to happen when you cut off my godamn arm?"

Miles' expression was hard and unyielding, as though the decision had already been made, no matter what Bass said. "Once the limb is amputated, we can control the bleeding more easily than we can right now."

Bass leaned his head back against the machine behind him and scoffed. "What are you, Miles, the surgeon general? Jesus, we're not talking about digging out a bullet, or putting in a few stitches here."

Charlie clenched her fists, a weird sense of panic unfurling within her. They couldn't really do it, could they?

"Uncle Miles, surely there's something else we could do? I mean, okay, cut off his arm if it's the last resort, but couldn't we at least try to free him first?"

Miles glanced at her with a foreboding expression.

"Please, Uncle Miles." There was too much emotion in her voice, and Bass shouldn't matter so much to her. But her mom had called it, apparently part of her was well and truly compromised when it came to Sebastian Monroe.

Miles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I'll give it half an hour; see if we can't come up with something else. But after that, we're taking off that arm and getting out of here."

He stood and went over next to Rachel, the two of them talking in low tones, no doubt discussing the best way to go about chopping off a limb.

Charlie sighed and looked down at Bass, only to find him staring up at her.

"Once again, you've come to my defense. Is this going to be a thing with you, or—?"

She dropped to her knees next to him. "You know, a _thank you_ would do just fine."

Bass shook his head, lips lifting in a short grin, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "No use saying thank you yet, they're still over there, chatting about amputation techniques."

"I won't let them do it, not until I'm sure there's no other way to get you out."

She started to stand, but he reached over and grabbed her hand. "Miles was right about one thing, Charlie. I've lost a lot of blood. If things go south—"

"Don't go giving me some lame _if-I-die_ speech, Monroe. We're leaving here together, with all our limbs in tact."

She tried to tug out of his grip, but he tightened his hold on her, his expression taking on an intense edge.

"If I bleed out, whether before or after they cut off my arm, you have to get Miles to tell you where my son is. I want him brought home."

She stopped resisting and speared him with a weighted look. "Just one problem with that, since we don't have a home."

"I thought you would have worked it out by now, Charlie. Family is home. Whatever happens, I want that kid to know who his real family is."

"You want your son to know he has a dead, war-mongering son of a bitch for a father?"

He gave a husky laugh, which turned into a cough. "Even when the grim reaper is about to make me his bitch, you're not about to soften the blow, are you tough girl?"

She grabbed the nearby canteen and unscrewed the lid for him. "You want dumb adoration, get a dog. I'm not going to pretend like I don't know who you really are."

He nodded as he took the canteen from her, his gaze considering. "You might think you know who I really am Charlie, but most days I can't even work it out myself."

Before she could reply, Miles returned, and Bass turned that consuming blue gaze away from her.

She dragged in an uneven breath and forced herself to focus on her uncle.

Miles cleared his throat. "Well, if either of you have got any ideas about how to get that arm free, now would be the time to speak up."

 


	8. Chapter 8

Bass glanced between Miles and Charlie. No one had said anything in the last few moments, so it seemed there weren't any brilliant ideas forthcoming about how to get his arm free.

He hated this. Hated relying on them to get him out of this mess, hated that he was the one sitting here helpless while others decided his fate. After everything that had happened in the past few months, one would have thought he'd gotten used to fate bitch-slapping him, of having no control over the acid rain that kept falling over him, eating away at the illusion of power he'd lived with for so long.

Rachel walked over and picked up the empty canteen, swapping it for a full one from Miles' pack. "While you guys talk that over, I'll go and get some more water."

She sent Miles a quick look, before crossing the factory floor and disappearing through the door.

Charlie pushed to her feet and moved around him. "I couldn't get his arm out before, but maybe now that there are more of us, it won't be so hard. Maybe now that its daylight and we can actually see what we're doing, we can loosen some of the wires before we pull him out."

Miles shrugged. "It'll probably hurt like a bitch, and it could make the bleeding worse, but it's up to Bass."

He tried to focus on Miles standing above him, but everything had started spinning again. "If it'll stop you from playing Doctor Frankenstein with me, I'm willing to give it a try."

Bass squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the pitching sensation to stop, as though at some point he'd climbed onto a tilt-a-whirl. Someone came up against his left shoulder, a light touch against the side of his face.

"Bass, you've got to stay awake."

Charlie's voice in his ear pushed back some of the wooziness, and he forced his eyes open.

Miles had crouched down on his opposite side. "Don't make me slap you, Bass. Stay with us, okay?"

"Give me something stronger than water and I'll think about it." He tried to straighten, but couldn't find the energy.

Charlie shifted, settling herself half behind him so he wasn't against the hard metal of the machine any longer. "Don't try to sit up, lean against me."

Miles pressed a flask into his hand. "Just don't drink all of it; we'll need to save some for sterilization."

So Miles still thought this could only end with him losing the arm. For the first time, a deepening sense of dread clawed at him. He brought the flask up to his lips with an unsteady hand and knocked back a mouthful of liquor, the burn as it went down helping to clear his head a little.

Charlie took the flask before he could drink any more. "And now have some more water, my mom said you needed to rehydrate."

"Buzzkill," he murmured as he accepted the full canteen.

"You can get wasted all you want once we've got you out of this mess."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, but she wasn't looking at him, she was focused on Miles. Her clear blue gaze was troubled, her lip a little swollen where that bastard Patriot had hit her. He'd been trying not to let himself think about it, because she was just a kid, over twenty years younger than him, but the girl was damn gorgeous in a way he apparently couldn't ignore, especially when she was pulling a Florence Nightingale on him while he slowly bled to death.

Besides, she had a kick-ass inner strength and courage he hadn't seen in many men, let alone a girl. He'd known it from the first moment she'd calmly stood in front of Strausser's gun demanded to take a bullet for her brother; he'd never met another woman like Charlotte Matheson, and wouldn't ever again.

Miles slipped the flask away in his jacket and stood. "Let me see if I can't make a start on untangling this mess from around your arm."

Bass swallowed another trickle of water and then set the canteen aside as Miles leaned in closer to his arm.

"All right, Bass, this isn't going to be pretty." Miles shook his head slightly and then reached down to unbuckle his belt, sliding the sword sheath off before handing the length of leather over to Charlie.

"Hold this between his teeth." Miles cut him a grim look, and he nodded in return, before letting Charlie shove the leather into his mouth.

She wrapped an arm across his chest, and then gripped his free hand, her fingers laced tight with his.

"Are you ready?" Miles directed the question at Charlie, and she nodded.

Miles closed his hand around his upper arm, right over the tourniquet, and then worked his fingers under one of the wires.

Bass tightened his hold on Charlie's hand, his breath shortening as pain started radiating down his arm. A new bloom of sweat beaded over his skin, and he closed his eyes as the blazing pain continued to climb.

"This one is coming free," Miles said, his voice sounding as though it was echoing from a distance. "But its one of the least tangled wires. Is he still conscious, Charlie? We need to keep him awake."

"I'm still here," he replied around the leather, but his words were weakening.

Charlie pulled the belt out of his mouth and smoothed a hand along his jaw.

"Just concentrate on holding my hand, and don't think about anything else, okay?" She murmured, her lips close to his ear.

He forced a sarcastic laugh, though it sounded more like a cough. "That's easy for you to say."

Her arm across his chest tightened. "Come on, Monroe, you had half the continent running scared the last few years, are you really going to let a bit of pain get the better of you?"

"We need to have words about your smart mouth, tough girl. One of these days, it's going to get you into trouble."

Miles had stopped tugging, and Bass forced his eyes open. His buddy's hand was half covered in blood.

"Okay, I'm ready to pull this first wire free, its got a few bits of rubber attached to it, but hopefully once its gone, we'll have a better idea of what we're looking at."

Charlie went to ease the leather back into his mouth, but Bass clamped his jaw and shook his head.

"Don't bitch to me when you break your teeth."

"You know you could use some lessons in bedside manner, right?"

"All right, kids," Miles interrupted before she could reply. "While you're bickering, we're running out of time."

Charlie cleared her throat and shifted behind him. "Sorry, Uncle Miles, let's get this over with."

"On three, Bass."

He braced himself, as Charlie hugged him tighter.

"One, two—"

Miles didn't say three, but yanked the length of wire, dragging it free from the tangle.

White-hot pain blasted through him, and he arched against Charlie's hold. Though everything from his elbow down had mostly numbed out, the echoing slice of metal cutting into his flesh still smoldered like lava washing through him. On the heels of the excruciating surge, blackness rushed outward, and this time he had no hope of fighting the tide, dragging him under into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

Bass slumped against her, and Charlie tightened her hold on him, catching his jaw to stop his head from dropping.

"Bass?"

"Just give him a minute before we bring him around, Charlie. Poor bastard." Miles rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his chin to his chest for a moment.

She tightened her fingers around Bass' limp hand, wishing she could take some of the pain for him. Before the blackout, there'd been any number of drugs they could have given him so he wouldn't feel a thing. Now… now people died from simple infections because antibiotics were so hard to come by.

Miles sighed and straightened. "How did this happen, anyway?"

"We went up on the roof to get a look at the boarder, and while we were up there, a patrol spotted us. Bass covered me while I got back to the stairs, but when he came after me— I don't know, I didn't see it happen. I guess the roof just went from underneath him."

"I suppose it was lucky you weren't standing right next to him when it happened."

She nodded. "The patrol came searching, if we both had of been trapped or hurt, they definitely would have found us."

"So I'm guessing you're responsible for the dead Patriot we found back over there?" Miles' lips quirked into a short smile.

She shrugged. "He tried to take me down, so I stabbed him with his own knife."

Miles reached out to pat her knee. "That's my girl."

The door squeaked, and Charlie glanced up to see her mom had returned, carrying a bunch of stuff.

Miles stood and went to take some of it from her hands.

"I think I might have found an answer." Rachel glanced at Bass. "How is he?"

"Unconscious, but we managed to get some of the wire and rubber off," Charlie replied.

"Yeah, except now that's cleared, I can see where the real problem is," Miles put in. "There's one or two thick wires twisted around his wrist, that's where most of the blood is coming from. He's lucky they didn't cut in any deeper, otherwise he definitely would have bled out by now. But still, they're twined around so tight I can't see how we're going to get them loose."

"So you still want to cut off his arm." Frustration and futile anger stirred in her chest, and she resisted the urge to hug Bass closer, as though he needed protection from them. "How is he supposed to live with only one arm?"

Miles shrugged. "At least he'll be alive, Charlie. You want to sit here while he slowly bleeds to death? Because my guess is he's got about an hour before there's more blood on the floor, than there is in his veins."

Rachel put her hand on Miles' shoulder. "Like I said, I might have another way out of this. I checked a few rooms and closets on the way back and found all these industrial cleaning products. I should be able to make an acid solution that will weaken the wire, but we'll need to be careful not to get any on his skin. He obviously doesn't need chemical burns on top of everything else."

Miles sighed. "Sounds like a Hail Mary if I ever heard one, but we'll give it a shot. What do we need to do?"

Charlie watched as her mom found an intact table, and got Miles to set it upright. They spread out all the items she'd brought back with her, before she pulled on a huge, thick pair of dull orange gloves that went all the way past her elbows.

Bass groaned and Charlie glanced down to see him coming around. She leaned over and grabbed the canteen, needing to keep herself busy while her mom and Miles put together this last chance. If it didn't work-- Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. If it didn't work, she would have to sit here and hold Bass down while they cut off his arm.

"Am I still in one piece?" Bass' low, unsteady voice broke into her dark thoughts.

She looked down at him as his eyes opened. "Yeah, you're still whole. Miles got some of the wire off, and my mom has come back, she thinks she might have found a way to take care of the last of it. Here, have some more water."

She held the canteen up to his mouth and waited while he drank down a few mouthfuls.

"What are they doing over there?" He asked once she'd put the canteen away again.

"My mom said something about using acid."

"I'm assuming she didn't mean the trippy kind, though what I wouldn't give for a hit of that right now." He rubbed his eyes, seeming to have trouble keeping the lids open.

"It won't be long, now, okay? You just need to stay with me. Tell me something about yourself, like from before the blackout."

For a moment he didn't answer, and she thought he'd lost consciousness again, but then he shifted against her. "Okay, when I was a teenager, I ate too many Twinkies, and for a while there, Miles used to call me Eric Cartman."

Charlie shook her head. "I didn't understand half of what you just told me. Seriously, sometimes it's like you guys are spouting off a different language whenever you talk pre-blackout."

Bass sighed. "It really was a different place, Charlie. The whole world was connected in a way you can't even begin to imagine."

Miles walked over, slipping on a pair of matching gloves to her mom. "We're almost ready. How you holding up, Bass?"

"I'm still here, that's about the best I can say. You know, you look like our science teacher from freshman year with those gloves on."

Miles cracked a grin. "Mr. Rayon, the one who liked blowing stuff up."

"Remember when he charred the ceiling of the chem-lab?"

"Yeah, he was one crazy son of a bitch. Don't know how he ever managed to keep his job."

Charlie glanced down at Bass, her breath catching at the grin he had on his face. In those moments, when he and Miles went into memories of a lifetime ago, before they'd run the Monroe Militia, she didn't see the ruthless killer in Bass anymore, but a guy who'd lived a regular life, one who'd had a conscience and a heart. Those were the moments it was really hard to hold onto her contempt toward him and everything he'd done.

Rachel walked over, carefully carrying a metal container in her hands. "Are we ready?"

Miles nodded, before stooping to pick up the shirt Charlie had shredded earlier. "Here Charlie, hold this. Once we get those wires out, we'll need to wrap his wrist right away to stop the bleeding."

Rachel set the container down and then pulled a paintbrush out of her pocket. She frowned, running her fingers across the bristles. "I wish I could have found something smaller to use, this is going to be delicate work."

Miles sent her a reassuring look. "We've got to make do, Rachel, there's no time to look for anything else."

Rachel nodded, taking a long breath. "Okay, Bass, I know you're in a lot of pain, but you've got to stay as still as possible while I'm doing this. If I get any on your skin—"

Bass nodded, his jaw clenching. "I get it, more pain, horrible disfigurement, Phantom of the Opera type stuff, right?"

Miles sent him an exasperated frown. "Hilarious, Bass. Now hold still."

Charlie braced her arm more firmly around Bass' chest, before he reached over and grabbed her other hand, linking their fingers again.

Miles wrapped both hands around Bass' injured arm, before Rachel dipped the paintbrush into the solution and carefully stepped forward.

As her mom dabbed at the wires surrounding Bass' wrist, Charlie couldn't breathe, the air stalled in her lungs. For a long moment, nothing seemed to be happening, as her mom set the paintbrush and container aside to look more closely at the wires.

"How long will it take if it's going to work?" Miles asked quietly.

Rachel touched one of the wires with the tip of her gloved finger. "I think its working now. Let me try a bit more."

Her mom repeated the dabbing process, as the silence in the room thickened with tension.

"Okay, Miles. Try pulling the wires apart, but don't let them touch his skin where I applied the solution." Rachel stepped back, setting her tools down far out of the way before returning to Miles' side.

Miles cut Bass a tense glance. "Remember, Bass, try to stay still, no matter what."

Miles took a moment, before shoving his fingers under the wires around Bass' wrist. His whole body tensed against her, and a breath hissed out between his clenched teeth.

"It worked, Rachel, the wires have weakened." Miles started pulling, and Bass shuddered against her.

"Hold him still, Charlie," Miles snapped in an unforgiving voice.

She locked her arms around him as tight as she could, while Bass' fist clenched almost hard enough around her fingers to break every bone in her hand.

Bass collapsed against her again as Miles gave one last sharp yank, and the wires came free. He let the remnants of the conveyer belt go, and it swung to clunk against the wall of the machine. "Quick, Charlie, hand me the bandages."

She leaned forward, passing them over, her heart tripping in her chest with relief as Miles and her mom started wrapping Bass' damaged hand, over his wrist and up to his forearm.

"Leave the tourniquet in place until we can get somewhere safe and take a closer look at his wounds," Rachel murmured as they secured Bass' arm against his chest, wrapping a tight sling around his right shoulder.

Miles crouched down and gripped Bass' jaw, before lightly slapping his cheeks. "Come on, buddy, time to move."

Bass' eyes flickered, but he didn't quite come around. Miles glanced over at Charlie.

"Help me get him up."

Charlie shifted around, getting her shoulder under his left side, while Miles carefully got in on his right side, avoiding his injured arm. They dragged him to his feet, while her mom grabbed their packs and took the lead as the left the room.

Even though they'd managed to get Bass free without cutting off his arm, dread still churned though her, making her chest feel tight. "We're not going to get far like this, Uncle Miles, not with all the Patriots patrolling this area."

Miles glanced at her, his mouth pressing into a grim line. "Let's just get out of this godforsaken factory first."

 


	10. Chapter 10

Bass forced his rubbery legs to take his weight as they stepped out of the factory and into the morning sunshine.

Charlie looked up at him with a questioning expression, and he sent her a nod, letting her go as she moved forward, setting both hands on the rifle they'd pilfered from the dead Patriot. She scouted ahead, all the way to the end of the alley, before waving them down.

At the street corner, Miles took him over to the brick wall and helped him slide down to sit. If he'd thought he'd been dizzy before, while he'd been stuck sitting on the factory floor, he'd been sorely misinformed. Now, everything was tipping back and forth beneath him, like he'd spun around in a circle about five hundred times too many.

Miles had one hand on the other rifle as he leaned out to look around the corner.

"What do you think our chances of stealing a horse are?" Miles directed the question at Charlie.

"Since I only saw a couple of horses on the way into this town and they were all being ridden by Patriots, probably not very good." She walked back to stand next to him, gun lowered, but she was always ready. It was hard to catch the girl by surprise.

"Okay, then I guess we're walking out." Miles scrubbed a hand over his hair and then turned back to him.

Godamn it, he knew he was slowing them down, but they didn't need to baby him as well. He held out his good hand. "I've got this, Miles, you need to be on point."

Unfortunately, his legs weren't in on the plan, and he couldn't quite get to his feet. Charlie rolled her eyes and stepped into his left side, helping to get him upright.

"You're an idiot, you know that right?"

"And you're so sympathetic." He ended the words with a groan as his arm got jostled.

Miles motioned them over. "Come on, let's go before that patrol comes back around."

Bass tried not to lean too heavily on Charlie as they followed Miles and Rachel out into the street at a fast walk. It was the best he could do, as frustrating as it was. Black dots swam in his vision, and before they'd even made it to the end of the block, he'd worked up a clammy sweat, cold on his skin in the morning air.

They went onto the next block, lined with old industrial brick buildings almost identical to the one he'd fallen into. Half way along, Miles skidded to a sudden halt and back tracked a couple of steps as he brought up the gun. But it was too late, shouts were punctuated by the sputtering of machine gun fire.

Charlie turned them, putting her body between him and the Patriots as she let off a spray of bullets. If he'd been operating at full capacity, he would have bitched her out over that. As it was, he could only do his best to keep his legs moving as Miles led them toward an alley in the opposite direction to the patrolling soldiers. Just inside the lip of the alley sat a rusted-out dumpster. They went down behind it, bullets pinging off the other side.

"Well, now we're screwed," Miles said over a short breath.

"Did you see what the commanding soldier was riding, though?" Charlie checked the rounds in her gun.

"Yeah, he had a horse, but do you really want to take down eight soldiers to get it?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "We've taken worse odds."

Miles sent her a dark look. "You've been spending too much time with me. Okay then, one horse coming right up."

Miles went out high, while Charlie ducked low. They disappeared from sight and Bass glanced over at Rachel, who held Charlie's crossbow. He shook his head slightly, and then dragged himself over to the edge of the dumpster so he could see around it.

"Bass, what are you doing? You can hardly even stand, if you go out there—"

He sent Rachel a cutting glare. "I'm not going out there, I just need to see what's going on."

Shifting a bit farther, he leaned over, catching sight of Charlie and Miles just beyond the opposite corner of the dumpster. They hadn't gone far, fighting off Patriot soldiers in hand-to-hand combat just a few steps away. But at four-to-one, they were taking a beating.

"Rachel, give me the crossbow." He held out his hand, but with a muttered curse, she brushed by him and took up a defensive stance, before letting off an arrow.

One of the soldiers went down, but she'd caught the attention of another. He started forward as Rachel hurried to load another arrow. She got it in and the bow up just in time to shoot the guy at point blank range in the chest.

Miles and Charlie had manage to take down a couple more soldiers, while Rachel went forward to come up against another Patriot. There was one bastard lurking at the edge of the fighting, and Bass knew a coward when he saw one. But suddenly the guy made a move, slipping forward to come up behind Charlie, who was clashing knives with one of the other soldiers.

Bass' heart kicked into overdrive, thumping against the inside of his chest. The son of a bitch's intentions were clear, he was going to stab her in the back while she was distracted.

With a burst of adrenaline, Bass lurched to his feet, drawing his sword with an unsteady movement. He pushed past Rachel as she knocked down they guy she'd been taking on. Bass lunged forward with little coordination, but it didn't matter, his sword ran through the patriot's side as he body-slammed into the soldier. They both went down to the ground, the man's scream cutting into a gurgle.

Bass gulped for air, his damaged arm throbbing as he rolled to his back on the cold asphalt. Charlie came down on her knees next to him, gasping his name.

"Are you hurt?" She demanded, her hands frantically searching over his chest.

"Yeah," he groaned. "I got my arm cut up in this damned—"

She smacked him across the chest, and he coughed. "You're a stupid son of a bitch, Monroe."

Miles appeared above him, glaring down as he chucked aside the gun, the chamber no doubt empty. "Had to be the hero, huh Bass?"

"Far from it, Miles," he replied tiredly, closing his eyes as the sun pierced to the middle of skull. Great, the spinning, woozy feeling was making a come back.

"Well, let's get him on the horse," Miles said. But that was the last thing Bass heard before he went under again.


	11. Chapter 11

Charlie caught Bass' weight against her as Miles helped him down from the horse. After they'd clashed with that patrol of soldiers, their luck had held out and they hadn't seen any other Patriots as they made their way out of town, with Bass slumped in the horse's saddle.

He'd been checking in and out of consciousness more and more often, and while she didn't want to think the worst, her stomach churned sickeningly every time she thought about it too closely.

As they walked up the front steps of the old, abandoned farmhouse Miles had scouted out a few clicks west of the town, Bass was having one of his lucid moments, though he was weak. He seemed to have used up the last of his energy killing that patriot who'd tried to stab her in the back.

When she'd turned around and saw Bass going down—

Her heart lurched for the millionth time, but she told herself it was anger. They'd gone to all that trouble to get the stupid son of a bitch free from that machine, and made sure he kept his arm in the process, and the first thing he'd gone and done was throw himself into a sword fight, when he could hardly even stand on his own two feet.

Inside the house, they took Bass into the front room, where she helped him collapse onto the dusty, faded couch.

Rachel knelt down next to him and checked his pulse, as he started slipping out of it again. Her mom leaned forward and grabbed Bass' chin.

"Bass, it's really important to stay conscious, now, okay? We're going to get this arm taken care of, and get some more fluid into you, but you've got to stay awake."

"Can't. Too tired." Bass tried to turn his head away, but the movement was feeble.

Charlie dropped to her knees next to the couch and grabbed a handful of his hair. "Hey, Monroe, we didn't go to all that trouble just to bring you here so you could check out. Stay awake, all right?"

His eyes dragged open to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere, tough girl, just need to sleep for a bit, that's all."

She tightened her hold, turning his face toward her. "No, you're going to stay awake, like my mom told you."

He lifted his uninjured hand to swat at her. "Okay, I'll stay awake, just lay off the hair. Don't you know chicks dig curls?"

"Well, if he's thinking about getting laid, he can't be doing too badly," Miles muttered from behind them.

Rachel turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Miles, we're walking the line here, he lost a lot of blood back there. I don't know—"

"So give him some of mine." Miles shrugged. "I'm o-neg, universal donor. We packed a whole bag of stuff from Gene's house, isn't there something in there we can use to do a transfer?"

Rachel shook her head, expression unimpressed. "No, Miles. You were flat on your back, half-dead from sepsis less than a week ago. The infection could still be in your system, if you give Bass blood and it weakens you too much, you'll be laid out next to him in another twenty four hours."

"There must be something..." A distant memory tugged at Charlie, from when Danny had been sick, before the black out, something about blood types. "Mom, I'm o-negative, right? So you could give him some of mine."

Her mom didn't answer, and Miles seemed to have gone still. After a silent moment, Miles shifted around to the side of the couch, putting Rachel directly into his line of sight.

"Charlie's o-negative? But I thought Ben was b-positive. And from memory, you were AB something. So how—?" He broke off, his face dropping into a shocked expression.

Charlie glanced from Miles to her mom, a sense of apprehension climbing within her, in time to the rising tension in the room.

Her mom got up and went over to the sideboard where they'd left the bag full of medical equipment, to search through the contents.

"Rachel." Miles' voice came out unsteady. "Is Charlie—?"

Her mom's shoulders tightened and she seemed to give up the pretense of sorting through the bag. After a long moment, she turned to face him.

"I fudged the dates." Her voice caught on the words, tears glinting in her gaze. "I told Ben she came a few weeks early. But she didn't, Miles. She came right on time, exactly nine months after you shipped out."

"Holy crap," Bass muttered.

Charlie pushed to her feet, thoughts churning too fast to make sense of anything. Her throat tightened. This revelation couldn't mean what she thought it did, because that would make half of her life a lie. That would mean she wasn't who she thought she was, and every memory she had of her childhood would become tainted with falsehoods.

"Mom, what are you saying?"

Her mom sniffed and wiped a hand over her face, before turning to look at her.

"Ben wasn't your biological father, Charlie. Miles is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my Revolution fanfic. I had a long debate over whether or not to end the "episode" here, but ultimately it felt right, so sorry for the cliffhanger. I know how frustrating they are when all you want to know is what's going to happen next. This story will be followed on by The Sum of All Truth, so don't worry, you'll get some answers.
> 
> I know some people were probably hoping for some serious Charloe moments, but like I said, I'm trying to keep the characters and story as true to the show as I can. And while I would LOVE some Charloe action (seriously, just get it on already) I think it's going to take a lot to push both Bass and Charlie past that point, because quite obviously there are many, many reason why they shouldn't be together. That's not to say I won't take them there, but I'd like to make sure I develop their relationship in a realistic fashion as I do it.
> 
> ~x LizAna


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